


I want your faith

by bonelines, howlscastle



Category: Jagten | The Hunt (2012), The Path (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Confession, Crime, Cults, Cum Play, Disobedience, Domination, Drunk on Power, Hair Pulling, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Masturbation, Penance - Freeform, Power Play, Priest Kink, Religion, Sadomasochism, Sexual Violence, Shoe Kink, Submission, Violence, Virgin sex, Wound Play, crawling, dom/sub themes, escalating madness, faith - Freeform, more tags to come, more violence, the path au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonelines/pseuds/bonelines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlscastle/pseuds/howlscastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“If there is something you feel you need to unburden, I am more than happy to listen, Lucas.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You sound like a priest, asking for a confession.” A low chuckle as he watches Cal carefully now. Cal’s rough grip brings his face back to centre— filling Lucas’ whole world with entirely just him. Even still, the eye weighs heavy in the back of Lucas’ mind.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Maybe I’m something like that…”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Acquitted. The word, for all the power it wields, doesn’t seem to hold any weight, or sway in the community. But Lucas, if nothing else, is determined. He knows he is innocent— had been _proven so_ in the court of law.

 

With broad shoulders leveled, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and hood tucked around the hard line of his jaw, he walks inside and away from the frigid winter air— into the strange, fluorescent glow of the grocery store. A gush of warm air brushes the slopes of Lucas’ cheekbones and fogs up his glasses; he rubs them clean on his shirt, blinking hard as a sigh is huffed out past his lips.

 

Once cleaned, they are eased back onto the bridge of his nose and he tried to maintain a solid posture, with head held high, but the shiver of fear that runs under the surface of his skin quickly elevates into shaking hands that struggle to pick up the shopping basket. In the end, it is only the power of a righteous heart and the desperate need for supplies that pushes him onwards.

 

After they had stoned his windows and killed his dog, Lucas had locked himself inside his house for months. Forced to survive on whatever tinned food he had kept in the basement, his usually bulky frame had slimmed down to almost skin and bone. In short, Lucas is starving— weak of both body and soul.

 

Long index finger extends as he pushes glasses further up his nose and keeps his gaze off to the left. No direct eye contact; voice low and without challenge. “I’d like two chops.”

 

“I don't have any left.” The blond, ruddy-faced butcher folds his arms when he recognizes just who is on the other side of the glass case.

 

“Sorry, I mean those pork chops.” Lucas’ long arm reaches just-so and points towards aforementioned cut meat sitting in the chill case, amber eyes flitting up towards the other man and down once again to duck his head ever-so-slightly into his oversized, olive coat. The dull tones of his clothes set of his bold, tanned features— there is no doubt that Lucas is as equally handsome as he is afraid in this moment, but he knows too well that it is only the _truly afraid_ that can be _truly courageous_. Strange how trauma breeds new kinds of wisdom.

 

“I’m not selling you anything.”

 

A pause, before, “I have the right to shop here.” Lucas’ tone is steady as his gaze finally levels and meets that of the butcher.

 

“You need to leave.”

 

“Get out, fucker.” The store owner chimes in from behind.

 

It doesn’t take long, before Lucas is surrounded, but he stands his ground, heavy boots settling to widen his stance. “I want two pork chops.” He takes a deep breath, knowing very well what’s coming. Broad shoulders are set back as hands slowly close into fists while he nods towards the case again.

 

Towards the other side of the store, Cal rifles through various isles, eyes focused and brows knit in thought as the sun creeps down outside to make the light of the small store rely on the ones overhead. He’s just on an errand-run, really, nothing special— blue gaze downcast as he runs a hand over dark hair with a quiet sigh.

 

What Cal _really_ had not expected was the fight that breaks out.

 

Both the store’s owner and the butcher move very suddenly and  lunge for Lucas, dragging him back and tossing him down to the tile floor, groceries flying with the scuffle. This isn’t the first time an altercation has taken place, simply because Lucas had decided to venture away from home and run to grab essential needs— he can’t just let it go. He can’t avoid the outside forever; he needs groceries.

 

“Now go away. And don't come here again.”

 

He manages to get to his feet, holding his glasses in place as a third man comes up and looms over him. Despite Lucas’ ever-gentle heart and demeanour, his size alone meant that it would take at least three men to force anything on him. As he draws in panting breaths, he looks around, aware that a small crowd is forming to try and see exactly what’s going on—  including the attention of a young stranger with vivid blue eyes. _Do I know him? From a dream, perhaps?_

 

_Perhaps…_

 

Lucas’ attention is pulled back to the situation at-hand as a fist comes out of nowhere and knocks him stumbling back to the ground, just as he works to gain footing once again. His glasses smash with the impact and an explosion of light goes off behind his eyes and his head pounds with freshly exquisite pain, heart hammering in his ears as the first trickle of blood runs over the curve of his lip and leaves a sharp metal taste on his tongue.

 

From where he watches, Cal doesn't understand the situation, as much as he tries to— it doesn’t take long for tensions to flare and fists fly, making connection with a hard 'crack' of a sound to send the man to the tile flooring with a groan. He's tall, with chestnut hair that hangs just over the line of his brow. Glasses sit on the bridge of his nose— glasses that go skittering across the floor when he stumbles to it and, suddenly, Cal has no more interest in grabbing supplies.

 

“We don't want your business. You aren’t welcome here.” They snarl back at Lucas, both men wanting nothing more than for him to leave.

 

It takes him a few goes, but long legs scramble and heavy boots eventually find friction enough to push Lucas to his feet, despite the pulsing pain crawling over every angle of his face and down his jaw. “He hit me.” Lucas looks around, pleading. “It's not right to just hit someone like that.” A futile plea for decency as his tone rises with fury.

 

With slow and precise movements, Lucas turns towards his attackers once again, shoulders raised and ready to strike, but all three jump him— he never has the chance. A tangle of powerful limbs crumble underneath a hurricane of violence, the attackers land body-blow after body-blow— a crack of bone, a grunt, a thud of flesh, an aching groan. This is the symphony of a lynching that is only punctuated by a woman screaming, “Now, go away, you bastard.” There is a pause in the storm, briefly, before they return with greater fury, piling on top of Lucas’ hunched form, the sound of flesh whacking and boots kicking bruises against his rib cage filling the empty spaces between insults and screams.

 

While fear hammers behind broken ribs and pain blinds his fractured senses, Lucas still refuses to go down this way. He wraps his arms around himself and grunts out in pain, “Is it okay to hit someone, now? Is it? This is how you measure yourselves against an innocent man?!” Somehow he manages to use the roll of his shoulders and the kick of his legs to force the mob back.

 

The store is silent for another moment, save for a chorus of panting breaths, before, “Outside,” the manager hisses, pointing towards the door, and two of the men shove Lucas in that direction.

 

“I can walk.” Lucas states and pushes further to his feet, trying to maintain what dignity he can. _He is innocent_. He is right. He doesn’t deserve this. Lucas carries that truth with himself, despite the violence that claws under his skin, itching to get out and and swipe at the ugliness pressing in on him from the people around.

 

His once peaceful world is painted in strokes of hate and lies. No escape. No way back. No way forward.

 

“You can walk? Then walk the fuck off. You’re not wanted here.” They push him again and he stumbles, turning to go, but as he wipes some of the blood away from his features, the carmine smear on his hand gives life to his anger. Rage rears up in his aching veins and he turns back with a new spark in his eyes and a sharp bite in his tone, “I need my stuff. My food.”

“Get out, now!”

 

“I want my stuff! I need to eat!”

 

“You should get the fuck out— hurry! Get out… _Thank you for your visit_.” Staff and customers now are jeering Lucas as he relents and walks outside, boots dragging against the linoleum until he crosses the threshold back out on to the stone footpath, starving just as he had been before and bleeding now, alongside the ache in his stomach.

 

Lucas leans against a nearby pole, trying to catch his breath, when he is pelted with various cans. One after the other the blows forcing him to his knees as his head cracks forward, arms raised in an attempt to shield himself, whiplash making his vision spin with the pain.

 

“Fuck you! Go home! Don't ever set foot here again; we don't want to see you.” The shouting continues as one can slams right into his temple, splitting tender skin. Blood wells up from the wound that forms, plastering brown hair to his features and staining the alpine lines of his face with trails of red tears.

 

Already half blind from losing his glasses, Lucas is reeling now, seeing only through a fog of blood and whirling faces. The agony is enough to make him sick, the crushing fear almost does— vomit teasing his throat as he lurches with a dry wretch.

 

But he is _not_ done.

 

With unusual grace and poise, Lucas rises again and makes his way back inside, hands brushing off his jeans as he moves through the front door, a slight limp in his gait. Through his daze, he finds the manager and repeats that he is right, that he is innocent and that he wants— _needs_ his stuff. He punctuates it with a sudden, “Fuck you.” And head-butts the manager, sending him flying, stumbling back over his own feet and out for the count.

 

A crowd of men pounce to drag Lucas back outside and toss him to the ground, pelting him with the groceries he came in for. Near complete exhaustion, all he can do is hold an arm up to protect his already pulverised face from further blows, blinking blood from his vision.

 

Cal, regardless of knowing nothing of the circumstances themselves, has seen enough. He shifts in and out of various isles to get one last look through the store windows, before shoes carry him swiftly outside, not caring to look back.

 

In his mind, this is his _calling._

 

This situation has been placed in front of him for one _very_ specific reason and he'd be damned if he didn't reach out and seize it for himself. For his own benefit? Not entirely. Sure, Cal is selfish in some ways— secret and quiet ways— but this, today, is motivated by more than just that. _Isn't it?_ Cal constantly finds he is questioning himself. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing.

 

"Enough! Stop." The bell jingles harshly against the store's glass entrance as Cal sends himself flying through it, reaching out so fingers clasp hard over someone's shoulders, tugging them back and further away from Lucas, before he then keeps arms outstretched, motioning for the others to leave. "That's enough. You've all made your point _very_ clear." Veins and lines of strained tendons cast shadows over the hollow of his neck, mirroring the fury painted across Cal’s face.

 

The stands between Lucas, who crouches against the pavement and shields what he can of his face with his arms and shaking hands, and the men who remain in threatening stance, before finally muttering to themselves and slipping back inside. Hissed words of insult and anger— one man spits to the ground on his way back into the story, narrowly missing the tip of Cal’s shoe, before they are all back inside and Cal is left alone with the man on the ground.

 

"Are you okay? Can you stand?" He turns and reaches out, fingers skimming over the wounded man's hunched shoulder as Cal kneels and attempts to get a better look. Hands ushering arms away and eyes searching to study Lucas' features. Cal has been here a thousand times before. He has been in this position of offering an extended hand to those who might need it.

 

To those who would trust him.

 

To those who didn't have a choice.

 

Lucas blinks as the stranger steps in, unable to see that well without his glasses, but it seems to be the man from earlier. He feels a small flicker of relief now that the altercation has died down and the mob is gone— for now, at least. His mind is muddled and afraid, still reeling from the shock. When the stranger brushes his shoulder,  Lucas’ hand instinctively shoots up in defense and he flinches, expecting another blow. Although the man _appears_ to be helping, Lucas flinches again when he draws nearer to inspect his wounds; he is unable to stop his involuntary reactions. He is simply so used to ridicule and violence now that his body is programmed to avoid people at all cost— people are dangerous.

 

Lucas hates what he is becoming. Regardless, it is quickly clear that Cal doesn’t wish him further harm, so his shoulders drop, along with his hands.

 

"You're bleeding. Badly," Cal continues with a concerned sigh, brows knit and hands still cautiously extended in offered help, though with added caution once he notes the other man’s nervousness. No, he doesn't know the story— he has no idea why this had happened, or what this man had done to deserve any of the treatment he’d received, but Cal doesn't need to fully understand to know that he has exactly what this man needs. "Do you have someone to call? You should really get to a hospital."

 

If Cal understands anything, he understands people. He knows that something has happened to isolate this man, else he wouldn't be so adamant about leaving with his essential groceries. If he has no one around him to help, then Cal would be that someone. He could save him, help him unburden— to free him and welcome him into The Garden.

 

The Path might be just what this man needs.

 

Breathing hard, Lucas slowly shakes his head and swallows a thick lump in his throat, eyes glossed over with tears from both the sharp sting of pain he feels and the deep ache in his heart. The kindness this man is showing burns with the weight of meaning it carries. To go without an minute of human kindness for almost a year has caused Lucas wounds that are far more sensitive and painful than any broken bones. His lungs ache and throat closes over with sadness, but Lucas is not one to stay down, or garner pity from those around him. From his sadness, he can also draw anger— enough to help see him through this and get him to his feet. Maybe even to get him home.

 

He can wallow in his own time.

 

“No…no hospital. I— I’ll stand. I can…” Lucas huffs out, fearing what the staff there might do to him if he lingers nearby for too much longer. He just wants to get away from this scene; from everything. “And no, nobody to call.” _God_ , to say that out loud stings anew as his face is tugged lowered with the need to cry, feeling a fresh wave of defeat.

 

 _Focus_. He needs to focus here. This is about survival.

 

And Cal doesn't get it.

 

There's an anger that boils up and takes hold of him— anger that someone should have to live this way. Cal does not take pity on Lucas, not when he is tall and large enough to have continued fighting the men, if he had _really_ wanted to, but Cal does feel anger. He feels a strong urge to protect and help in every and any way that he can. It's just who he is. It's what life has directed him to do— surely nothing more than that. _Surely..._

 

“I just need my stuff,” Lucas adds, rolling the bows of his shoulders to the side while pushing up on to one knee, shaking, as he finally heaves to standing with a grunt and tries to collect his ruined groceries. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that there is little point in trying to salvage his goods as the loaf of bread comes apart under his hand and falls into the mud. On top of everything, he would have to starve again tonight, going without groceries once again.

 

Woozy, he stumbles a step and leans back, head loose on his shoulders as blood-wet hair hangs down over his face and just above his eyes. Still panting, Lucas runs tongue over his lips and is greeted, once again, with the metal taste of blood as he brushes his head with another wince. Eyes peering down towards his hands at his hand, he is still dazed, but the smear of bright red there is clear— he can still feel thick, warm streams of it flowing down his face and neck. A sharp contrast to the winter winds.

 

“They hit me. They just… started hitting me,” he murmurs, although he shouldn’t be surprised after all he has been through. But Lucas’ nature is not prone to violence, despite his size and obvious aptitude for it. This whole situation is just… hell. He looks around in vague desperation, thinking that perhaps he should just leave and get away entirely, but he realizes that this man may very well have just saved his life— who knows if and when those men would have stopped if not for him. Or, when Lucas _, himself_ would have stopped. He would never admit to the true depths of rage and despair that burned hot in his gut. Plus, he had only just escaped prison, he didn’t need an assault charge on his record, regardless of who started it.

 

“I… and you helped me? Thank you— but…” Lucas continues on broken thought,  trying to catch his breath as he leans over, his hands heavy on his knees and his head falling forward, almost too dizzy to stand; not that he would show it if he could help it. A pause to gather himself once again, dragging in a shaky breath, before continuing. “Why did you help? I don’t even know your name.”

 

"I don't know your name either. I don't need to know your name to know that you didn't deserve that... it's not a crime to buy groceries," Cal answers simply with a sigh, brow arched in the other man's direction as he watches Lucas’ movements closely, keeping an eye out for any sign that he might collapse.

 

Cal knows Lucas must be dizzy. The wound from where the thrown can of food had made contact wells blood to paint red paths down the sharp angles of the other man’s face. Refusing a hospital and having no one to call gives Cal the green light that he needs. It gives him a reason to pursue further—  other than the simple basic human instinct to help, of course. It is that, and a chance to add to the family back at the commune; to save another soul.

 

To build his legacy.

 

Lucas pauses and looks up, really _looks_ as best he can without his glasses. His shining, wet amber gaze locks on that earnest blue that pets over him with concern. He will remember this moment for a long time, he can tell. Before all of this, Lucas was nostalgic and a true romantic at heart. _Before._

 

“Thank you.” He nods softly, never one to forget his manners even in circumstances like this. “I owe you.” A weak smile ghosts across his full, but bloody lips. God, he knows he must look like a real mess. Lucas finally moves to stand upright and brushes down his jacket, before checking to make sure he still has his wallet. “They didn’t hurt you they, did they? I can’t see very well without my glasses.” Wide shoulders shrug a gentle apology towards the other man as Lucas scrambles to salvage what dignity he can.

 

"Don't thank me, I was only doing what any good person should have done," Cal starts in answer, following each of Lucas' motions with that same careful gaze. Getting this man food, water, and medical attention is all he is really concerned about right now, the buzz under his skin and rising blush being a mere response to the adrenaline of the moment, nothing more. "And no, I'm fine— just diffused the situation and they went back inside. Are you okay to stay standing? Let me go get you your glasses. Please."

 

_Please._

 

It's added onto the end, sensing that Lucas might protest and ask that he just be on his way. What kind of man would Cal be if he simply washed his hands of this now and let the other man go off, in the state that he's currently in? The word is spoken on an even tone, but it's bitten out harder than the others. Cal will not be argued with on this.

 

As Lucas listens, he cannot deny the other’s logic— no one deserves this treatment, especially not someone proven to be innocent. Someone who _is_ innocent. He looks around, hands still brushing down his broad chest as he nods shakily. “Good… good they didn’t hurt you. And yes, I can stand.” _Just barely._

 

A thick swallow to clear his throat and Cal hesitates another moment, before turning and leaving Lucas alone. Although he is only going to just slip back into the store, in search of his glasses, he finds it hard to turn away from this beaten-down stranger in his weakened state. He glances back over his shoulder with a curious, but piercing look, before disappearing with a chime of doorbells behind.

 

Lucas leans his shoulder back against the pole once again, elbow bent and wrist loose as fingers hang down. Small puffs of ice-white air roll past parted lips as their gazes lock for just that brief moment in time— a silent conversation. Lucas will do as he is told, staying exactly where he is, and that is that, apparently, though he can’t help but worry that the mob might turn on Cal as well, out of association. His boot taps on the ground in mild agitation, but he is otherwise unmoving as he tries to maintain a level of cool facade in public— for a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, however, this is nearly impossible. Tears still threaten to flood his blood-shot amber gaze.

 

Cal finds the glasses on the floor inside, where the fight had initially broken out and the store manager is standing nearby with a crowd of others, all talking amongst themselves under heated breath. The tension in the room is thick, but Cal, himself, doesn't feel fear that they may turn on him for stepping in— not when they're far too caught up in their gossip. Not to mention, Cal is more than capable of taking care of himself if the occasional were to call for it; his soul a firestorm waiting to ignite, caught up and bound inside the skin of a man. He sometimes wonders if he’ll ever be free of his rage, or if he will simply burn up because of it.

 

Though, Cal still cannot help but listen in, just the slightest, as he leans down and collects the glasses. He doesn't catch much, mostly foul-mouthed insults, and his attention is torn quickly away upon seeing just how broken Lucas' glasses are. Cracked lines paint the clear glass and the arch in the middle that is made to rest over the bridge of Lucas’ nose is slightly bent, but Cal works to gently work that back into place, to some degree, as he slips back out the door, hardly noticed by those inside.

 

"You'll need another pair," he starts then, gaze lifting towards the wounded man as he approaches once again and goes to hand the glasses over, Cal's other hand reaching to clasp gently over Lucas' shoulder— that buzz of adrenaline pumps through him once again as they touch. Cal blinks away the sensation. Focus is needed now; this is important. He wants this man to listen to him. This isn't about pity, this is about giving Lucas help, extended in friendly offering, and a nudge in his direction to accept that help. "Let me help you. Just a ways up the road, we have a doctor who can look you over and make sure your head is alright. You need to make sure the bleeding stops. We may be able to help with your glasses too, and you can eat something, while you're at it. Afterwards, I can drive you wherever you need to go, but I can't just let you wander off like this— it doesn't feel right."

 

He is vague about it now, about exactly _where_ he would be taking Lucas, but he's sure the man would feel comfortable once he's dipped into the cradle of welcoming arms. These people would not reject him— they would only be there to help, just the same as Cal is now.

 

He only wants to help and to lead Lucas into the light when, surely, he has only known darkness for quite some time now.

 

Lucas’ chest sags with relief when the man returns. He takes his glasses with an appreciative nod, before pulling back and looking them over. He can tell, by feel alone, that he will need new ones as cracked glass snags at the tip of a finger and cuts through flesh, drawing a hiss from split lips— everything just seems to be _pain._ Regardless, he puts them on to try and see _something_ of this stranger, to see exactly what face kindness wears these days.

 

Sight is restored and breath hitches as he is arrested by those stunning blue eyes again. A stunning blue that seems to reach out towards him, as if to say, ‘ _I know you._ ’ Blinking rapidly, Lucas gazes down at where Cal’s steady hand holds his shoulder as he listens to all that he offers— food, water, and shelter.

 

“I...” His first instinct is to refuse. Lucas still has his pride, after all, but he is _hungry_ and so very tired. “That would be nice, yes. Thank you. But aren’t you worried they will turn on you too?”

 

Cal watches as consideration weighs heavily on the other man’s mind; he debates on refusing, but Cal is fully prepared to argue the matter further, if need be. Where else would Lucas go, if not with him? Surely, not to a hospital, where he really needed to.  
  
“No,” Cal starts in answer, reaching to help now— ensuring that the other man can stand straight without feet giving out beneath him, and a hand is pressed against Lucas’ back, guiding him in the direction of the car. “I can’t do anything about them. I can only do what I think is _right_.”

 

Cal really hopes he’s doing the right thing here.

 

The pain in Lucas’ head dulls his senses as he peers once over his shoulder to ensure they aren’t being followed. It wouldn’t be the first time he was chased off with rocks, but he’d be damned if he would let them turn on Cal— the first person to show him an inch of compassion in over a year. Already Lucas feels a debt, a loyalty, a... _connection_.

 

While Lucas is suspicious of people and random acts of kindness, he is also in no position to refuse. There is something about this man that he can’t pin point; something both familiar and unsettling, but Lucas doesn’t want to become _that_ person— untrusting, bitter, and alone. So, he accepts the stranger and his kindness at face value, praying to God that it is the right choice as well.

 

As Lucas twists his head to look down towards the stranger, his head spins and he almost loses his step, but the other man damn near perfectly anticipates and catches his arm, reaching out to grasp and keep him up. Cal is strong for his size and the firmness of his hold assures him without question— there is a small level of trust being built here, even in this moment, after only having just met. He sucks in a short breath, before, “I would still like to know your name. I am Lucas.” His tone is soft and warm and nothing short of courteous as he extends a hand, but as his fingers uncurl, tacky with blood, he laughs awkwardly and lets it drop back to his side, discarded as he speaks, “Oh, I uh, sorry yeah… maybe not.” The heat of the stranger’s hand on his back and the sound of laughter barked just as easy into the air in answer radiates out to fill his whole chest as he keeps him walking and guides him towards the parking lot.

 

“My name is Cal,” the brunet offers in exchange for the other man’s name. Thought the offered handshake is taken back just as quickly as it’d been extended to him, instead, Cal presses his touch to Lucas’ back, firmer than before, earning him a small smile from Lucas. They would have even more time for formalities later— simply knowing what to call one another is enough for now.

 

Upon nearing the car, Lucas can feel the cling of dirt and blood more strongly now, with every step. It itches over the surface and brings him to hesitate, keeping his hands off the car’s handle as he made very aware of the mess. “Have you got a towel? I don’t want to make a mess of your car like this.” His hands are painted red and his shirt and sweater are tacky, sticking to his back.

 

The question only earns him another strained huff of a laugh. It seems Cal does this kind of thing a lot— blood and mess being all part of a day’s work. “No need.”

 

 _Is he just another number on Cal’s list today?_ _Why does that even matter to him? The blow to his head must have been too much._

 

Lucas’ head tilts examining the design on the side of the man’s four wheel drive, lifting his glasses and rubbing a finger over his eyes, before trying to study it again. He has seen it before, but can’t exactly place where and doesn’t really care. Exhaustion is wearing him down as Lucas walks in silence, all his energy and focus placed on trying to maintain a tight posture, but his footfalls are heavy against the pavement, until he can lean on the car.

 

“Wow, my head really hurts…” Lucas mutters in disbelief and chuckles just-barely to himself, head shaking as tears well anew.

 

Cal can sense every bit of this man’s exhaustion, worried that he might collapse at any moment, given his state. Dizzy and weak as he fights against the pain that snaps angry teeth into vulnerable flesh, Lucas needs to be evaluated. He _really_ needs to have someone check the wound on his head; it’s possible his injuries may be more serious. Cal is unsure and won’t be able to tell until they’re back at the compound, but a new sense of urgency crawls forward to writhe around in the pit of his stomach when Lucas leans against the car— his words don’t help with the worry much either.  
  
“Hey, you need to sit down.” Eyes remain on the other man, studying and watching carefully, even as Cal reaches to open the passenger’s side door of the car, his other arm extended to keep a palm against Lucas’ shoulder, ensuring that he remain upright but the larger man seems to tremble more under his touch. “Here…. sit. We need to get you out of here and I need to check and make sure you don’t have a concussion.

 

Hands help to guide the other man as much as possible; one clasped over the bow of a strong shoulder, while the other offers a quick, reassuring touch to Lucas’ side when he stumbles on his feet. Cal knows the signs of a concussion and he has next to no doubt here— this man needs some kind of medical attention.  
  
Lucas needs to allow someone to look after him. Entirely.  
  
Cal is the one who shuts the door once Lucas is in the car, all before he moves swiftly to the driver’s side and gets inside, turning the key to bring the engine roaring to life, all before the car is pulled out onto the road. Lucas is leaning heavy on the doorframe now, bloodied head smeared against the glass. His large body rolls and jolts with the flow of the car down dirt roads and his eyes are half closed but his gaze never leaves Cal.  
  
The Meyerist Compound is a short drive, but that doesn’t keep him from asking small questions along the way as he casts sidelong glances in the other’s direction It’s all an attempt to gauge the situation and to keep Lucas cognizant, until they’re pulling into the front gates and Cal is parking the car. Night is settling in, and the sun takes a leap into the horizon line to be swallowed up whole— it would leave behind an inky sky with tiny splashes of light in its absence. Meanwhile, Cal would have to take care of Lucas on his own, for the most part. No sense in drawing unneeded attention, when he can just as easy slip the other into one of the homes and have everything looked after there. Cal would send over the doctor in the morning, just to be sure.  
  
“Right across from where we’re parked…. just there—” the brunet indicates, pointing to a place that would be empty and open for anyone that might need it. Lucas can stay there for as long as he’d like and, if it means another open set of ears, Cal is sure that he can convince him to stay. “I’ll help you across and then I’ll need to look you over. Assess the situation. I can’t tell under all the blood right now.”  
  
Another glance towards the man in the passenger’s seat, ever-watching and half expecting that Lucas might black out, before Cal is out of the car and making his way around to open up the door and offer an extended hand.  
  
Palm up and opposite hand keeping a grip on the door as to make certain that it stays open for him, it only takes some effort, before the taller man is able to lift himself from the vehicle and place himself back onto unsteady footing. The world is spinning and aching, but Cal does his best to guide Lucas through it with slow footsteps and that very same hand that’s pressed against the carved muscles of his back— a gentle, reassuring touch that brings them into the warmth of the simply decorated and empty house, welcoming them inside from the dark of the night with open arms and steady breath.  
  
And, just as Cal wants to help guide Lucas from the sting of his pain now, he wants nothing more than to lead him into the light, each step at a time. There is something that hovers in the air around Lucas, a quiet aura of power - enough to draw Cal in, closer than he normally would any other victim. And certainly something Cal can make use of in the movement. To help others and maybe himself. _Maybe._

 

“Sit down here and I’ll be right back.” Cal instructs him, before pointing to a cushioned chair, before he heads into the bathroom and begins rifling through the various essentials that each of the homes were stocked with. Each has a first aid— most of those that come through the front gates are in need of medical attention and so, the brunet has been down this road. The kit, a cloth wet with warm water, along with a small flashlight in-hand, Cal returns and sets most of it aside on a small end table, before directing all of his focus onto Lucas’ face. With a smooth, yet serious level of intensity, Cal wants to help him and any instructions that he gives now are said with a clip to his tone; a clip that implies that Lucas would be best off if he allowed the other to work quickly and efficiently.

 

Lucas’ energy and will is waning and he has little left in him to argue but Cal’s strident tone causes him to blink and pull back, seeking to protest something but as full lips part nothing comes out. All he can think about are those men pelting him and all that’s come in the year before as he slowly sits back in the chair - just as ordered. As he sinks under the weight of exhaustion Cal looms over him, toned forearms locking him in place. Lucas is anxious and squirming as his gaze traces the thick lines of veins and muscle there before Cal’s hard tone breaks through the daze.  
  
“Lucas— look at me. Let me see your eyes.” The touch that follows is just as gentle in its guidance as any of the others had been when a hand brushes the pads of fingers just-barely under the line of Lucas’ chin to guide his attention towards Cal, their gazes meeting in the middle for a brief pause. If it has any effect on him now, to be this close to someone, regardless of circumstance, it isn’t given away in the man’s expression as he slides off Lucas’ glasses and clicks on the flashlight, shining it into amber eyes.

 

“Please…I need...” Lucas starts, petting over where his glasses had been resting against his temple, large shoulders pulling back and chin shifting to the side - an instinctively defensive gesture. Cal’s presence remains large and unmoving. In an unspoken conversation Lucas shrugs and sighs a silent apology and Cal guides him back round again.

“Don’t move.” Cal’s tone is tender but final.

 

Lucas’ pupils shift, but it’s hardly enough for Cal to trust that the other man’s head is completely fine. A soft sigh is exhaled past parted lips as brows knit together— Cal sets the flashlight aside, before attention is turned back towards the other. It is safe to assume that he’s not completely well enough to allow on his own. If he were to take Lucas back to his home now, with the very real possibility of a head injury, that would be on Cal. And besides, it’s not like he is without anything to gain in this scenario; not when the air around him seems to guide him very hands, whispering to Cal each next step that might best encourage this new acquaintance to follow even further. No, this is a very special calling. Lucas is just the kind of man they need to grow the movement, all he need to do is bring him round. If there is one thing Cal can do, is bring people around to his way of thinking. No matter _what._

 

“Follow my finger with your eyes.” Another instruction, uttered soft between them as Cal holds out the pointer finger on his right hand, directed towards the ceiling in the space between them, before he begins slowly moving his hands from side to side— his own eyes honed in, studying closely to watch the way in which Lucas’ gaze follows as best he can without his glasses. He continues this without another word for a few passes, before he very suddenly becomes entirely aware of their close proximity, near enough to feel Lucas’ breath ghost over his flesh and spark a wrench of something in the other’s gut. He isn’t sure what it is; he tries his best to distract from it with a question, drawing thoughts elsewhere.

 

“So. Those men at the store— what was their issue with you, exactly?”

 

Mere inches apart now Lucas’ sense are drowned out with Cal - sight, scent, feel. The heat that radiates between the two men only seems to multiply the longer they hover like this and it’s nothing like either man has felt before. Not in this context. Not with another _man_. So both brush it away as something else entirely and try to shift away. But Lucas can’t move any further back. He is trapped by Cal’s presence and now pinned by the question - he suspects that this is all part of Cal’s intention. He is a man who likes control in all things but despite appearances, Lucas won't be so easily penned.

 

Shoulders broaden and head dips down, a sad kind of laugh passing over his lips as he shakes his head. He knew such kindness wouldn’t last long. “You don’t keep track of the papers, huh? I...” Lucas looks up again, soft amber meeting the unforgiving blue. No, Cal wasn’t going to relent here. Tears well again but he quickly brushes them away just as Cal takes hold of his chin again, forcing him to look at him and stay in place. Lucas flexes his jaw in response, holding his gaze and even pressing into the touch a little as he grips the armrests with large, powerful hands. “I was found _innocent_ . Acquitted even. The family, people who _were_ my best friends, even dropped the charges.” Lucas’ tone carries its own whip of seething power when needed.

 

Cal slowly lowers his hand, with almost deliberate menace that _could_ be read as careful, Lucas can’t tell any more, sadness weighs heavy in his chest slowly tipping over into hopelessness. He leans to his good side and pushes up to stand, shaking as he tries to find balance “I should just... go. I need my glas~” but before he can finish his sentence those same strong hands are pressing on his shoulders, forcing him back down to sitting. His head spins for more reason than once, rage, pain, unfurling heat.

 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Cal’s tone is gentle, his firm touch and the warmth that swirled between them was now an unmistakable spark that set Lucas’ tanned skin humming rose red. Lucas slowly lowers himself back down, long limbs fold in supplication, more in response to the sudden charge of electricity between them than any words or actions taken by Cal.

 

Lucas is silent now, watching as Cal starts to swipe away the blood with soft motions of a warm cloth, seeming happy enough with his answer, but something tells Lucas that Cal isn't done. Lucas tenses and grunts, panting breaths falling fast and short over cracked lips as the water stings against split skin. Cal waits patiently before resuming. Lucas feels a self-conscious thrum under his skin and, rather than getting caught up in the storm-blue of Cal’s gaze, he decides to shut his eyes and lean back, surrendering to the younger man’s ministrations. He swallows any further pain down as Cal leans and works over him, his hot breath soft against Lucas’ jaw.

 

As the cloth and Cal’s hands comes to rest on the subtle arch of his throat, a strange question is purred out. “If there is something you feel you need to _unburden_ , I am more than happy to listen, Lucas.”

 

Skilled hands begin to move again as Lucas slowly blinked open his eyes, near passing out from exhaustion. “You sound like a priest, asking for a confession.” A low chuckle as he watches Cal carefully now. _What is this place, exactly? And who, really, is Cal?_ He looks around, but the room gives away no hints, save for a large circular carving of an eye on the wall that dominates the space. Once again, Cal’s rough grip brings his face back to centre— filling Lucas’ whole world with entirely just _him._ Even still, the eye weighs heavy in the back of Lucas’ mind.

 

“Maybe I’m something like that…” Cal pushes the wet cloth down Lucas’ neck, wiping away the blood, but leaving a hot trail of goosebumps in its wake as fingertips follow and brush over flesh, skimming the light flutter of his pulse. Cal clasps the back of his neck then, bringing his head down to clean over his nape. Lucas feels _exposed_. He gives an attempt to push back up, but Cal just holds him firmer, sensing the tension in each of the man’s muscles from under the press of the cloth.

 

“Do I have to get on my knees and pray?” Lucas chuckles nervously, wanting to crawl away from the other man’s touch and his own words, but he doesn’t move. He stays where he’s hunched over, as his own hands brush anxiously down the top of his thighs.

 

However, the idea sends a hot chill through Cal, the thought of Lucas on his knees appealing to him more than he would like... and perhaps more than he really understands. “No, not quite.” _Maybe_.

 

“I— I’m alright... I have nothing to confess. I was found innocent because I _am_ innocent. Look, I don’t have anything to prove here. Thank you for— ” Cal’s hand is heavy on his shoulder again, before he can finish his sentence, bearing down. Lucas cranes his jaw to the side just enough to peer towards rough fingers pressing into his shoulder, before the touch smooths upward and curls over the back of his neck, digging in and holding him _just_ there. This is a touch that demands attention, drawing his eyes back towards Cal, Lucas’ amber gaze darkening and breath picking up into soft, shallow pants through his nostrils as he swallows thickly. The younger man is asserting dominance, but Lucas has never been one to kneel.

 

“I don’t want you to prove _anything_ . I just want you to _believe_ . I am here to listen. I’m here for _you_ .” Cal lets that hang in the air between them, before finally releasing the other and turning away to ring out the blood that blooms into the white bowl of water— he watches with lowered gaze as the chiaroscuro of bright, alarming red reaches out and mixes itself into a soft pink, before returning to Lucas with a soft sigh. “I want you to talk to me, Lucas. So that I can help you… _unburden._ ” Lucas leans back as Cal undoes the first few buttons on his shirt with quick sweeps of nimble fingers, swiping away the blood from his chest hair. He feels something like panic pounding its angry fists in the cradle of his chest as his heart thumps behind his ribs.

 

Everything quiets between them then, before Lucas finally nods in response, his mouth too dry to speak as two more buttons are undone, revealing swollen bruises against the newly exposed planes of flesh, purpled and dark to paint over carved muscle. The lightest touch here causes him to buckle, muscle tensing under careful fingertips as Lucas allows his eyes to shift back up towards Cal, but this time the pain is far from unwelcome.

 

Hands continue to work gently over him, cleaning away blood and inspecting various levels of bruising to make sure that there’s nothing too damaging. When Cal’s hands slip into his shirt and count over each of his ribs, there’s a brief moment where eyes flicker up and their gazes meet in the middle once again— the heat of hands against flesh and the close proximity sparks something to catch fire and it brings Cal to clear his throat, recoiling smoothly and swallowing thickly as he makes to pack the supplies back into the first aid kit.  
  
“No broken ribs, but a hell of a lot of bruising. You definitely have at least a slight concussion— it’d probably be best if you stayed here for a couple of nights. In the morning, we have a doctor that can give you a full evaluation, just to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

 

Lucas goes to protest, shifting from where he’s seated as muscles tense and try to bring himself to stand, but Cal turns once more to shoot him a glance over his shoulder as the water is dumped into the sink; serious. As gentle as he is and as much as he does, indeed, care for the other’s well being, he is not above arguing with him on this.

 

Lucas decides that it’s probably best not to fight it. Besides, what would be the harm in accepting the help of someone else, when help hadn’t been something offered to him in such a long time? He relaxes back into the chair with a small nod in Cal’s direction, watching as the dark-haired man makes way for the front door once again and shrugs on his coat.

 

“There’s food in the fridge. Feel free to eat whatever you’d like. The bed and the shower— feel free to use whatever you’d like. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning with a doctor,” Cal starts, reaching to twist the knob of the door and open it to the cold night air, before casting one final glance over his shoulder. Their eyes connect one last time and the quiet stillness of the room seems to hover in wait. “I’m only trying to help you, you know— I just want your trust. Your faith.”

 

It’s Lucas’ turn to swallow thickly, lips pressed into a tight line as he mulls over the words. He doesn’t have a chance to answer, before Cal offers him a soft, “Goodnight,” and slips out the front door, shutting it behind himself and leaving Lucas alone.

  


  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things start to heat up between Lucas and Cal - both are left, more than a little confused as to _why_ that might be.

Once the door clicks closed, Lucas is left alone with his thoughts and the hot echo of Cal’s hands over his chest. His hand lifts to touch that same spot, but the strange, cold ache remains, regardless. 

Cal’s manner had been both compassionate and arresting and Lucas doesn’t know what to make of it - he’s quite sure he had never met anyone quite like that before in his life. He looks around at all the goods that had been offered to him upon being welcomed here— food, shower, books... but the only thing singing to him in this moment is the bed.

It takes some effort for Lucas to move his heavy limbs over to the bed and lay down, his gaze never leaving the strange wooden carving of the eye that dominates the room. Eventually, his eyelids grow too heavy for him to remain conscious and he tumbles into darkness, vaguely aware of people coming in throughout the night to check on him, covering him with blankets and sliding his glasses off. Too tired to protest, he lets strange hands work over him as he drifts in and out of strange dreams, Cal’s face ever-present like the prowling wolf of his psyche. 

The light is still low when Lucas blinks himself awake, one of his arms instinctively covering his eyes against the lift in brightness and, as he comes-to, he notes that the room smells strange and the bed is much stiffer than the one he normally sleeps on. The pillow sinks under his head as he relaxes again, remembering that he isn’t home at all, and that is precisely when the thundering pain of his headache strikes. As Lucas scrambles to reach for his glasses on the side table, he finds some pain killers resting on the table as well, just as the scent of coffee invades his senses. He is quick to swallow the pills, sliding on his glasses and throwing off the blanket as he sits up. 

“Uh… hello?” It’s hesitant and called out to see if anyone might be in the small house with him. Clearly people - or perhaps just Cal - had been in and out at least once through the time that he’d slept.

Right on cue, Cal steps into the room with a cup of coffee in hand and soft smile over his face— Lucas’ eyes drift down to where he holds the mug now, remembering the flames that those very same same fingers had ignited under his flesh the night before - the sparks of which come back to haunt him now, eliciting a warm blush over the planes of his tanned skin. Gaze flits to the door and then back again as the other approaches, wondering if it  _ had _ been Cal who had been checking up on him through the duration of the night. Lucas decides quickly that it didn’t matter, scratching his hair and using the fingers to brush it away from his features, before Lucas takes the offered cup with a  _ thank you _ and makes room for Cal to sit on the bed beside him.

“How are you feeling?” Cal starts, voice calm and much kinder than even the night before, when tensions had been slightly high and - Lucas has to imagine - there had been a certain amount of worry for his injuries then. Cal licks his lips as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed that the other man occupies, one palm to the mattress and his back angled in order to keep his gaze directed toward his newly-acquainted friend. 

Lucas lifts the offered cup to his lips with both hands as he struggles to put some kind of barrier between himself and the other. Even though he is fully clothed he can’t help but feel exposed under Cal’s watchful gaze and it’s achingly apparent that the man wants more from Lucas than he is outwardly saying. 

He opts for an easy non-committal answer. “Fine - thank you. Sore head, but fine.”

Call nods, quietly, clasping his hands in his lap with a small sigh as his gaze falls in a moment of thought. It’s brief - reflective - before eyes are brought back up and, when he speaks again, Lucas can hear a hint of that same intensity from the previous night.  _ Pushing _ . Not too hard, but enough to insist that Lucas  _ consider _ Cal as a viable option for help.

“You’ll be recovering from that concussion over the next couple days. I had our doctor step in a couple hours ago, just to give a brief look over you… she said it might be best that you stay here. Just for a couple days, so that I—  _ we  _ can be sure you’ll be alright,” Cal continues, a brow arched in Lucas’ direction and gaze ever-locked on him. His gaze falls to catch the way that Lucas’ lips part and then softly close again, the man obviously thinking better of protesting.

They are seated fairly close in the sanctuary of the bedroom. It’s near enough now that Cal can recall their proximity from the night before, when his hands had roamed across the other’s body in an attempt to check all of his wounds. 

It’s not only Lucas that’s surprised by the itch of nervousness that creeps in anytime that they’re within touching distance, it seems. 

Regardless, when a brief silence settles over the both of them while Lucas very obviously weighs out his options in his head, Cal’s jaw sets and lips are pressed into a tight line. There is almost a  _ plea _ in the look that he gives.

_ Please stay. Let me help you. _

_ Do not bite the hand that feeds you. _

_ I will press further if need be. _

Lucas’ gaze drops to where Cal’s hands lay in his lap, clearly running over the interlude from the night before in his mind as a flush darkens his already tanned skin. With a strained sigh he puts his cup down on the nightstand and turns back to Cal. 

“What is it you want from me, Cal? You offer me all of this… for what?”

Cal nods with a tight smile and a huffed laugh as his clasped hands grip fingers tighter, knuckles going white. 

“Maybe a little gratitude.” Cal’s tone is strained as he raises a brow and nods his head towards Lucas. Cal is making mental notes— learning just the right way to push Lucas’ buttons in order to get him where Cal wants him. Lucas will be a valuable asset when he comes around. 

And Cal had done his research overnight. The crime Lucas had been accused of was, indeed, heinous, but he had crossed paths with Cal, as if by fate. 

Another nudge towards the truth, surely. A truth that Cal is more than willing to provide.

Lucas eyes him with something like suspicion for a moment, but before he can answer, Cal is turning further from where he sits and his hands are pushing Lucas back in a very sudden motion, taking him by surprise. Cal’s chin lifts as his head cants to the side, almost clinical in his own way as he starts to undo Lucas’ shirt.

A heavy hand clamps a vice-like grip over Cal’s wrist to put a pause to his actions. Both men seem to hover in waiting, breathing into the space between them, until Lucas speaks up.

“I… Thanks.” Lucas nods as if the deal is done, but as soon as he releases his grip, Cal’s hands continue unbuttoning his shirt. The broad and now naked expanse of Lucas’ chest heaves up with a tightly held breath.

“Breathe.” Cal urges.  _ Orders. _

A breath is slowly exhaled into a low gasp as Cal’s fingers press into the dark bruising over Lucas’ ribs. 

“What are you doing?” Lucas’ gaze trails down to where the other man’s hands work over him. It would take nothing to stop Cal, really, but Lucas’ hands stay at his side, clawing at the bedsheets to keep himself from doing so. Perhaps Cal has found a way to play with Lucas’ unease—  _ or _ , perhaps Cal has found a way to play with Lucas’ desires. The sound of heavy breathing continues to fill the air, the cold light of dawn now suffocatingly warm as the sun creeps in brighter through the windows.

_ Desires _ . Upon having inspected Lucas the night before, Cal had managed to press an undeniable heat into the both of them— a heat that neither of them really understand, but as Cal looks him over now, Lucas can feel it creeping back.

_ But Lucas isn’t like that. He doesn’t find men attractive. This isn’t like him - to enjoy the thrill of confusion and the pleasure that comes with pain. It isn’t like him. _

So why, then, is his heart pounding at the cradle of his ribs to escape, as a wash of hot goosebumps runs across his flesh?

“See? The pain?” Cal suddenly moves to cup Lucas’ face and turns the larger man’s features back to look towards him. Another short pause and then, “You will stay with us until you heal.” 

Cal’s palm shifts down and presses over the hard bone of Lucas’ hip.

_ Just part of the conversion -  the close quarters _ \- Lucas tells himself even as he feels his neck glow warm with a heady flush. 

“.... and I would like you to come to a sermon.” Cal’s thumb brushes along Lucas’ jaw, just near the curve of his lip, where breath races in and out in short, sharp pants. Even in Cal’s gaze, now, there is an obvious interest - gaze dropping to study the curve of the other man’s mouth - almost fixated.

“I’m not really interested in— ” Lucas is cut off again as the pad of Cal’s thumb presses over his lower lip, dragging it slight out of place.

“Gratitude - remember, Lucas?” Cal’s jaw flexes tight as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat on a hard swallow. The thumb that was toying over Lucas’ chin makes another very sudden motion to push in over the other man’s lips and into the hot cavern of Lucas’ mouth. As the dampness touches his flesh, Cal’s mouth parts with it and his eyes blink rapidly. He tries to steady his own breathing, but cannot stifle the way it catches in his chest and nearly rattles on its way out.

Arousal - and they can  _ both _ feel it. 

Lucas’ eyes clamp shut as he tries to pull away, but Cal chases him, thumb pushing in further and hooking over his teeth. Demanding— invading, but only unwelcome in both of their unease.

“Look at me.” Cal shifts closer again, crowding in to lessen the space between them.

Lucas’ eyes slowly blink open, his gaze clearly dark and lust-blown, to take in the image of Cal throwing a glance over his own shoulder, eyes raking over the swell of Lucas’ arousal beneath the bedsheets. He turns back just as Lucas’ tongue tentatively licks the tip of his thumb. 

Cal rolls his neck as a shudder rocks the charts of his spine, before locking his vivid-blue gaze on Lucas’ features once again. Cal appears to be trying to suppress whatever it is that he feels in reaction to their proximity - Lucas wants to drag it out of him. A warm smile, laced with menace, crossed Cal’s face as he leans over and grips Lucas’ hip that much harder and drags his face even closer. 

“Give me your ‘ _ yes _ ,’ Lucas.”

Lucas may appear unmoving, muscles held still - as if ready to tear himself from this room entirely - but Cal can feel the faint nod under the touch of his hand. The rush of power that comes from the larger man’s submission is positively dizzying - more so than any drug, or trance of prayer that he’s ever experienced. Cal has  _ never _ felt anything like this. His neck falls back, almost as if to drink in the moment, as Cal wets his mouth with a quick swipe of his tongue, exhaling slowly through flared nostrils. He would be a  _ fool _ not to take any of this as a sign. 

Cal turns back to Lucas and laughs nervously, before a dangerous flash of seriousness crosses his face as he slowly eases his thumb out of the other’s mouth, leaving a wet trail down Lucas’ chin. 

“Good.” Cal’s voice is just as controlled as ever, save for the smallest nervous wavering that hints around the edges.

Lucas’ lips stays parted and his tongue chases Cal’s thumb when it leaves, but he is left  _ wanting _ and, therefore, lets slip a low, soft groan as his hips shift up from the mattress in the slightest hint of motion, before falling back to where they were. 

Once again, it’s barely noticeable, but Cal catches it when the bed moves beneath him and so, he turns his gaze down to where the line of Lucas’ cock is clearly outlined under the sheets, before arching a brow in Lucas’ direction. 

“Something you, ah… You need to— ” Cal rubs a hand over his face, before craning his neck and returning a pearly white smile, “ —to unburden?” With that, his voice trails off to a low murmur.

Lucas’ eyes dip with a telling blush, the heavy-set bow of his shoulders shifting up as he moves to pull his shirt back together again, but Cal gently places a hand over his arm to stop him. Nothing is said— neither man knows  _ why _ or  _ how _ this is happening, but Lucas lets his hand drop, his chest staying bared for Cal, regardless. 

Cal nods in satisfaction, before another purr of “ _Good_ ,” passes his lips, and his hand slips back to his side, where he adjusts his own pants, the line of his own arousal remaining hidden - for now.

Where Lucas knows he should be feeling some form of shame - and perhaps he  _ is _ ashamed beneath all the blushing and heat - his mind is truly only focused on pleasing the man before him. The sharply offered word of ‘ _ Good’ _ echoing in his mind over and over. He closes his mouth with jaw clenched tight to suck on his tongue, the salty and earthy taste of Cal’s skin still lingering there. Lucas knows Cal is watching the way that his jaw flexes and cheeks hollow, tongue rollings back and forth behind his lips as he memorizes the taste of him.

And, oh yes, Cal notices— no matter that he chooses not to address it.

“My sermon starts at six, sharp. I expect you to be there, assuming you are well enough.” Cal looks to the floor as he runs his palms down the top of his thighs in an attempt to ground himself and settle out of the tension that’s risen. The temperature of the room, itself, has seemed to climb - though he could just as well blame that on the sun that continues to beat down through the drapes.

Lucas shifts up the bed and goes to cover himself, before stopping short and casting a look to the side with an awkward cough that leads to a soft wince in pain, before he finally nods, brown hair falling across amber eyes. 

“Lucas?” Cal’s sharp and pressured tone brings Lucas’ attention back.

“Yes,  _ Cal _ .” The words are spoken warm and smooth— a lure in themselves.

“Good.” Cal registers the widening of the other man’s eyes and the part of his lips upon hearing his words of praise. “You like that… don’t you?”

Lucas doesn’t say anything and allows his head to lean to the side, brows knitting together.

Cal shakes his head, inhaling sharply through his nose with irritation, before exhaling with a short laugh. He twists at the hip further, once again, and his hand dives straight in, fingers fanned out as he smooths his palm over Lucas’ ribs and presses down. When there is no immediate reaction, a fire of rage and lust ignites deep in his gut, knowing it’s a lie. He _knows_ that Lucas feels pain when pressed in the right places - just where rib is fractured - but it’s clear that Lucas is trying to top him by demanding _more_ _pain_ and so, _more pain_ is exactly what Call will give. 

Cal’s tongue clicks on a ‘ _ tsk _ ’ as he watches Lucas sit back and brace himself, before Cal then grits his jaw and presses the touch of his fingers in harder, until he finally draws a sharp hiss from the other man. And yet, Lucas  _ still _ makes no move to stop him. 

“And that? You like that too?” Cal’s voice is low as fingers tentatively sweep over the warm expanse of Lucas’ ribs. Such raw power is contained there and it is, all quite literally, in the palm of Cal’s hand. He can  _ feel _ it. 

_ They are connecting _ .

Lucas looks up towards Cal from where his is crumpled down, an angry glare painted over his features.

“You know it's, ah, considered rude not to answer someone when they’re talking to you, Lucas.” Cal rubs the bed of his palm across his own forehead, before his hand moves further down the expanse of Lucas’ chest to press in again, his fingers digging in, quite nearly clawing at the other man now - testing and toying.

“ _ Yes _ .” Lucas hisses out, before quickly lunging forward and grabbing Cal by the face, kissing him hard.

Cal shoves his hand down hard against Lucas’ rib in answer, forcing him back and the larger man exhales a strangled, feral sound with the jolt of pain that accompanies it. Both men look as shocked and flushed as the other does, but the wounded and fearful look that paints itself across Lucas’ face in particular is  _ too much _ and so, Cal winds his fingers into Lucas’ hair  and drags him back for another - much longer kiss, both men groaning and panting into the other’s mouth with the contact. 

Despite his injuries, Lucas manages to wrap both of his thick and strong arms around Cal and leans the smaller man back to kiss down into him and for just a second. The leader yields, soft and pliant in the gentle giants arms -  _ safe _ . But within seconds, the energy of the room shifts entirely and Cal uses his leverage against Lucas’ fractured rib to push him back. Lucas gasps with pain, near-winded, and Cal takes the advantage and pushes his tongue past full lips, tasting everything this man has to offer. His lust, his warmth, his need, his passion - and of course - his absolutely divine  _ submission _ . 

Without breaking the kiss, Cal turns and gets up onto his knees on the mattress, kneeling at Lucas’s side as he kisses down into him, forcing Lucas’ head back and splitting his lips open, and forcing the man to give him  _ everything. _ Cal establishes another unspoken rule of dominance, and Lucas lets him. 

“Good,” Cal pants again as blue eyes bore down into amber. 

Lucas closes his eyes slowly and nods.  _ Yes— God, yes, is it ever good _ .

“...  _ good _ .” Cal breathes the word out once more - mostly to himself as he parts the kiss to look around the room in one quick sweep, trying to avoid the image of the great eye that hangs above. Although Cal has no idea what has just happened here, he knows that he needs to maintain control. Above all, he must maintain  _ control _ . But the thoughts of surrendering to Lucas’ warm embrace that seem to block out the rest of the world intrude over and over upon him.

Cal shakes his head until he can settle a stern expression across his face, before he shifts back to sit down on the bed by Lucas’ side. As he tries to gather his thoughts, he drinks in the sight of Lucas’s now glistening chest, beads of sweat hanging in the dusting of hair over the rise and fall of it. Cal struggles not to dip down and bite over those damp planes of muscle, if only to draw more soft sounds of pain from this giant of a man who acquiesces so beautifully. But instead of giving himself over completely to passion, Cal squares his shoulders and breathes deeply as he reaches out and begins to button up Lucas’ shirt, his fingers skimming along the centre of his chest as he does.  _ A final indulgence _ he tells himself.

Lucas goes to speak, but Cal silences him with a look. 

Icy fury has always been easy to turn on and off for Cal, but never has it been used to such delicious effect. He sighs as his fingers make quick work of Lucas’ shirt— it is a pity to cover up the delicious bruising there, but Cal needs prove to himself that he has discipline. 

_ Plus, he isn’t attracted to men _ . This had just been a moment of slipped resolve. He had simply found an angle to work that would get Lucas to stay and Cal had just done what he had to do to keep Lucas and to lead him to The Light. Cal is sure that, after a day of meditation, this would all be forgotten. 

However, when he peers up and catches the confusion and fear in Lucas’ eyes, something tugs at the centre of his chest - something uncomfortable and sore. There is an  _ ache. _

As he shifts and clasps his hands in front, mulling it over, he realizes what he is feeling is an urge to protect and care for Lucas, but Cal steels himself against it. He could very well just be mistaking compassion for passion. 

An easy mistake and not something he ever gives into. 

He smiles and pats Lucas’ hand. “You’ll be safe here.” His tone is much smoother now as Cal rights his clothes and breathes out through his mouth, finally shifting to stand, but as he moves towards the door, Cal looks over his shoulder and he can see that - by Lucas’ crestfallen expression - that had not been the answer the larger man had wanted, or  _ needed _ to hear.

“And if I don't  _ want _ to be safe?” With the raise in question, Lucas had moved to standing, his full height revealed - all shoulders and long legs. Where Cal had taken over the room in charisma, Lucas dominates it through brute size and strength.

A shudder goes up Cal’s spine and he closes his eyes, centering himself, before he angles his jaw slowly to glare towards Lucas. 

“Then I'd suggest that you need to pray.” Each word spoken short and deliberate.

“On my knees?” Lucas asks softly, moving just a step closer

Cal turns away and swallows thickly, before offering a weak, “ _ Yes _ ,” before he walks out the door, slamming it behind himself. He absolutely needs to get away, before things get anymore heated between the two of them. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he beelines for his bungalow, not looking at anyone, or anything, until he can lock himself away and spend the day alone— kept quiet to himself with his thoughts to that he can try to will away images of Lucas on his knees…. _ praying. _

Lucas is left standing alone in the room. The temperature of the room runs cold and his mind is a left mess of confusion and want. He desperately wants to chase after Cal and take the taste of him back into his mouth— to taste his rage and his power. He wants to hear, once again, that he is  _ good _ and that he is  _ wanted. _ And, alongside that, Lucas wants to  _ protect _ in return. That second when Cal had given himself over to Lucas’ affections had filled an ache that Lucas had learned to live with in all his time spent alone. He had felt a place in the world again. But then, just as quickly, the moment was gone.

_ But he doesn’t like men. _

Lucas lifts a hand to touch over his wounds and decides it must be the concussion, or the medication, or both that had caused these all-too-sudden desires. He opts for having a shower and washing the whole incident away entirely.

The small, white-tiled bathroom fills with steam as Lucas drops his clothes into a pile on the floor and steps into the cubicle. He turns left and then right as he tries to get comfortable, but his shoulders are just the slightest too wide and he ends up having to stay diagonal as he showers. A heavy sigh echoes over the walls, his head falling back while hot rivulets of crystal-clear water run over tanned skin and long fingers run slick over his flesh with soap.

He  _ tries  _ to forget about their close encounter - he really does - but when Lucas brushes over his bruised rib, and a spike of pain shoots up the length of his back, he cannot stop his thoughts immediately turning back to Cal. 

Lucas closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath as blood runs south and his cock starts to throb painfully, rising from between his legs to curve up towards his navel. Eyes glance around himself once, before he shifts to lean back against the tiles and lets soapy hands drop to slide over his shaft. 

Flustered, he runs through thoughts of past girlfriends and centrefolds, but his mind keeps bringing him back to Cal - leaning over him, pressing into him, demanding a  _ yes _ , and telling him to pray. He can’t help it— the image is far too good to pass over.

“F—uck…” Lucas swears, breath hitching as he cums in hot, white streams over his knuckles. 

He looks down as the liquid pulses out over his grip and he is plagued by thoughts of Cal at his feet, sucking him clean - or even better - pushing in from behind and forcing Lucas to his knees. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” He whispers again as his forehead falls forward against cold tiles. 

_ What is wrong with him? He doesn’t like men.  _

_ But fuck if he doesn’t like Cal, and what Cal does to him. _

  
The water washes his cum away as Lucas sucks at his bottom lip in deep thought, fingers brushing over his blackened rib and thinking about Cal’s hands having been there— hands like fire.


	3. Chapter 3

Cal speaks, his concentration and conviction nearly absent as he delivers his sermon. Words fall with all the power of blunt knives in a marble room - cold and motionless. But it is the blind faith and devotion of the faces in the crowd that tells him that, for this one night, he can can let his mind wander as he continuously searches them all for a face he cannot find. 

Lucas hadn’t come. Even after giving Cal his word, Lucas hadn’t shown up. It’s because of this that Cal finds it hard to center himself and find the words that usually flow from him with such an ease. He stutters, pauses, and hums more than he would like - more than was worthy of The Light - and it’s all because of Lucas. Could it be that he was bringing darkness in with him? Why has Cal felt plagued with shadows ever since the other man had come to the compound?

Cal’s thoughts are not in this room— they continue to run away from him and take off towards where he knows Lucas would be tucked away, still in the home that  _ Cal  _ had provided him with. The sanctuary  _ Cal _ had gifted was now being taken of advantage of. Cal had been both trusting and generous in helping Lucas though giving him a place to recover and  _ this _ is how he repaid him. 

He can’t help but wonder—  _ what else is Lucas lying about?  _

With every word spoken here, Cal can feel a burning-hot rage running through his veins. His lips pull tight over his teeth as he grimaces while speaking, gesturing skywards as if seeking some kind of intervention for this disproportionate rage he feels. It’s not like they hadn’t come across resistant people here before. But Lucas…  _ Lucas _ had gotten under Cal’s skin.

Cal had  _ ordered _ Lucas to come and Lucas had  _ given _ him his ‘yes’. It had been a lie.

“Cal.” 

Sarah’s voice cuts through his train of thought as she approaches him, the last of the community filing outside now that the sermon had ended. Sarah wears concern on her features, with brows knit and the soft curve of her lips tucked into a tight line, before they part when she continues with,  “Are you alright? You seem… different today. Distant.” 

Cal barely looks up, all but briefly, unable to bother himself much beyond the surface as his eyes dart off to the side. 

“What? Oh. Yeah—  just 10R business.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Sarah. I’m fine.” Call snaps as frustration boils to an even higher level, before he adds, ”I’ve got a lot on my plate - there’s more to this movement than you.” His hand cuts a line through the air as he rolls his neck, the muscles feeling like high-strung cords strapped tight down the length of his throat.

Sarah is left standing in mute shock, jaw dropped with eyes wide and wounded as Cal turns away. With shoulders set, he slides his hands in his pockets and heads out into the dark, not hesitating long enough to catch whatever emotion crosses over Sarah’s expression when she answers behind him. The words fly by him. Not a syllable registers. He doesn’t need to feel guilt right now— he only feels anger and aside from that, he cannot be moved in this moment. Where he had hoped that the chill of the night might shock some sense into him and help him to maintain his tenuous sense of control - instead, he finds heavy steps carrying himself to Lucas’ bungalow. 

Cal unhooks a large ring of keys from his belt and lets himself inside without so much as a knock in warning, a greeting, or even a glance upwards. He turns to swiftly close and lock the door upon entering and remains where he faces the plywood for a long pause, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, before he finally speaks into the quiet of the space.

”You gave me your ‘yes’.” Strained words are bitten out through a clenched jaw, teeth nearly grinding together in his anger. Cal can sense the other man in the room with him and so, when he finally turns, Cal is greeted with the sight of Lucas on his knees, under the gaze of the Eye that looms above. It peers down at both of them, as if laughing at the scene before it. 

Cal’s anger heats into a fury now.

“And  _ what _ ? You’re on… on your knees now?” Cal takes a step forward, hooking the keys back onto his belt, before continuing. “Am I meant to believe that you’re  _ praying _ , Lucas?” His head cants to the side, his entire body shaking with the tremor of what could only be anger, but Cal still hesitates in stepping forward.

And Lucas doesn’t say a word— only watches Cal enter and grow in anger, as wild and as sure as a hurricane. Cal’s words hit with just as much force as any raging storm. It takes every ounce of strength to not topple to the side under the weight of Cal’s wrath. Taking a deep breath, Lucas looks down, chin lowered to his chest and hands trembling as Cal approaches. The first button is tricky, but the second and third buttons come undone easy enough - even if the actual movements draw up hisses of pain. The fullness of Lucas’ lips are accentuated as he parts them to draw in panting breaths, all movements becoming stiffer as he works lower.

Cal puts an arm up as he takes a few steps forward, head to the side and eyes blinking rapidly. 

“No. Stop. What are you— quit it,” His whole body continues to shake at the edges and his eyes widen as Cal watches the scene play out before him.

Lucas doesn’t blink, doesn’t look up, and doesn’t stop. The flimsy material of his shirt is undone and his heavy shoulders roll to allow it to fall to the floor, baring his tanned chest and all it’s vivid bruising for Cal to see. Head still bowed, Lucas slowly turns his gaze up to peer towards the other man as he presses three fingers into the bruising of his own ribs and crumples with the pain. The ache brings one of Lucas’ knees to slide forward and he nearly folds in on himself. 

It’s a beckoning call to the other man. A reminder of their previous encounter.

_ A seduction _ .

Cal watches, unblinking and with awed fascination as his hands drop loosely to his side, absentmindedly taking a step forward. 

“You disobeyed me— ” He looks down for a moment to center himself, before eyes snap back and jaw sets to push out the last words, “ — on  _ purpose _ ?” 

Cal’s brows raise with shock, never having been faced with such deliberate act of defiance. He has never been faced with such a feeling. Heat immediately rises from deep within him, squirming and flickering alongside the pace of his speeding pulse. “You don’t want this, Lucas.”

“Tell me that  _ you _ don’t want this, Cal. Or did you need me to confess?” Lucas’ voice is as soft and warm as it is sure.  Amber eyes lift up and he turns his head to face the man that stands before him.

Cal still doesn't move at first as he hesitates in his disbelief. Eyes blink hard and nostrils flare on a sharp intake of air, before he takes another small step forward, heavy shoes grazing over the carpet. “And, ah, what would you…” He rolls his neck, looking around the room as his second shoe comes into line with the other and he turns his gaze back towards Lucas, a cruel glint in Cal’s storm-blue eyes. “... what would you need to confess for?” 

“Perhaps, I would need to confess the reason as to why I disobeyed your request.” Lucas offers quietly, remaining still and as solid and hard as a statue.

Cal breathes out sharply through his nose once again in a huff. 

“Why?” It’s a gruff near-whisper as Cal brings a hand up to scratch over the back of his neck. The room is feeling altogether too small as he draws closer to this muscle-strapped man who kneels before him - _for_ him - or so it would seem. One hand flexes and fingers wind to form a fist, resisting the urge to reach and stroke down Lucas’ chest - to curl through the gentle dusting of hair there and feel the strength of the muscle beneath. Only to then _break_ such tenderness by pressing on the wounds, just as Cal had done before. He grinds his teeth as his tongue falls lax with desire within the wet cradle of his mouth. 

Lucas has been silent too long, the heat of the room is being given too much time to swell, “I said  _ why _ , Lucas. Why disobey me so deliberately? What reaction were you expecting?” Cal steps forward with more confidence now, placing them even closer - almost close enough to touch.

“Punishment.” Lucas murmurs as he turns his chin upwards, nearly grazing Cal’s thigh in the process. His hands stay by his side, but long fingers itch to reach out and grab towards Cal, if only to provoke more of a reaction. To provoke his rage. “I wanted to see you angry again.”

Cal leans his head back, closing his eyes with a thick swallow. 

“Anything else you need to… confess?” he breathes out shakily, but gets nothing in return. One hand reaches and hovers just above Lucas’ head - either in an act of absolution, or sexual aggression. Maybe both. Maybe even neither— he can’t tell anymore. All Cal knows is that any rage he had has now melted away as blood runs south and fills his throbbing cock. He is sure the stark line of it can be seen through his straining trousers. 

That had been Lucas’ goal, after all, right? To arouse something from deep within Cal? 

As he opens his eyes and looks down over the man that Cal has at his feet, that same rush of power comes flooding back, his head spinning as a smile teases the corner of his mouth. He inhales sharply in an attempt to drink in Lucas’ musky, woody scent while he drops his hand drops into flaxen hair, clutching at the short, silky strands. 

When Cal curls his fingers and tugs, Lucas offers up a rumbling groan and leans in to nose up the inside of Cal’s thigh. And Cal lets him, dragging his tongue over his lips as his head shifts to the side to watch with a growing interest. He is  _ letting _ this happen. He is  _ allowing _ Lucas to take what he needs of his light in order to  _ heal _ . But the lies only work so long and as Lucas’ large hand closes over the width of Cal’s thigh, mouth brushing over his groin, Cal’s knee jerks forward suddenly and rams into Lucas’ side, effectively knocking him over.

Lucas groans and clutches his ribs as he tries to get back up, only in hopes that his defiance might encourage Cal to do it again. Lucas really doesn’t know what is wrong with himself, but when Cal is hurting him, nothing else really matters. Nothing else can touch him. In this moment, his whole world is Cal. As Lucas drags in deep, ragged breaths while trying to recover from the pain and shock, Cal lunges forward and winds fingers through the man’s hair, cradling the back of Lucas’ head and dragging him back up. Lucas chokes out with pain, wincing, but Cal yanks his head back further and forces the other man to meet his gaze. 

“Look at me.” Cal snaps with a hunger in his eyes. 

And Lucas does. His eyes open and his lips part, a primal need taking over. All he wants to do is please this violent force of a man before him.

“Punishment? That’s what you wanted?” 

Cal jerks back Lucas’ head and the rush of power that follows and bolts up the charts of his spine nearly sends him reeling. It’s the exact same rush that he had felt this morning, but all the more powerful and openly wanton. The parted, wet curve of Lucas’ mouth is practically begging to be ruined.

“This isn't a punishment. This is a _reward_ for you.” Cal snarls out as he struggles to both unbuckle and unzip his own fly with one hand. He grunts and huffs out as the belt catches, before it frees itself and he can grasp the velveteen length of his cock in-hand. 

Time pauses there - both men panting with chests heaving, eyes lust-blown, and cheeks flushed. Where Lucas tips his head back and opens his mouth wider, Cal traps his lower lip with his perfect teeth. If it wasn’t for Cal’s stroking hand over the long shaft of his own weeping erection, they could be poised in the moment before communion. But they are not. Any thought of The Light, or The Movement, or The Eye are far from here now. No, this moment pulses with a passionate transition of power— giving and receiving. Domination and submission.

Cal drags his feet forward as he angles his hips down, guiding Lucas’ head forward so that he can press the swollen tip of his cock to Lucas’ waiting mouth. Cal lets forth a stuttering groan as his eyes roll back when Lucas’ tongue traces the line of pulsing vein, just where it runs along the underside of Cal’s cock. He draws his hips back reflexively and pulling himself out of reach for a moment, so as to hold his orgasm at bay as the pressure begins to build all-too-quickly. It has simply been too long since anyone has touched Cal. 

“F—uck,” he groans out, dipping his head to the side to nearly rest against the bow of his own shoulder as he sees the worried look painting itself across Lucas’ face. Without hesitating, Cal thrusts his cock back into the other man’s mouth until the tip slides over the back of his warm throat.  

It comes as a shock and Lucas’ head twists back as he gags with the force of it hitting his throat, swallowing reflexively around the crown of it. He’s never so much as kissed a man before Cal, let alone do anything like this. His eyes slowly train up to meet Cal’s gaze as Lucas tentatively closes his mouth back over the other’s cock. 

Cal grinds his jaw, seemingly impatient, before he thrusts again.

“If you want it, suck it.” He hisses, grazing fingernails over Lucas’ scalp while coaxing him forward with fingers in his hair, Cal thrusting his cock further down Lucas’ throat. A moan rises in answer to the warmth and the wetness that surrounds the girth of Cal’s arousal, hitched and just as stuttering as the hips that threaten to rut forward and choke the other man further. 

The room is full of the lewd, wet sounds of gagging as saliva drips down from the soft curve of Lucas’ reddened mouth and over Cal’s balls. Cal stumbles back a step in his heated stupor, but drags Lucas with him, keeping him  _ just there _ , as the leader struggles to bare the weight of his climbing pleasure and dominance. If he could keep Lucas on his knees - pleasing him and  _ only _ him, forever - that would be just perfect. 

His own kind of God at his beck-and-call.

Lucas closes his eyes and finds a rhythm, sucking and lathing over Cal’s cock. It doesn’t take him long to get used to the salty glaze that coats the back of his tongue and it seems to take half that amount of time for Cal to get used to the idea of another man sucking him off. Besides his mouth that engulfs the other man’s arousal, Lucas does not touch, and it helps them to find a safety in the rhythm.

Lucas tilts his head and noses into the crease of Cal’s groin to inhale the musky scent— a scent that Lucas is rapidly growing far too addicted to. Full lips are messy with spit and pre-cum as his tongue twirls around the head and teeth tease the base. It brings Cal to freeze - muscles going rigid, and Lucas with him, just the same. 

After a second's silence, Cal orders the larger man to  _ suck harder _ . Lucas grabs Cal’s thighs to drag him in fully and to start abusing his cock with abandon, before Cal’s voice cuts him in two.

“Don’t t—touch me.” 

It’s not entirely expected when Cal kicks off Lucas’ and then follows swiftly after him, cock still firmly in-hand. With Lucas bent back on his knees, Cal steps over him with a leg either side of his arched and heaving frame to fuck down into his mouth, palms coming to the surface of the floor for support.

Lucas’ hands drop back to his side, and splay against the carpet, supporting his weight as well as Cal assumes the position on top of him. He does his best to suck, just as ordered, but the pain of being bent nearly in two makes it hard to breathe. However, Lucas doesn’t dare protest because,  _ fuck _ , if pain ever felt quite this  _ good _ . Hell, Lucas would willingly snap another rib if it meant Cal would simply  _ touch _ him, even just once. His own cock is achingly hard and neglected as he lavishes attention on the leader before him.

Cal manages to find his own pace as he rides Lucas’ perfect face and watches with an icy level of detachment. He lets his hand graze down Lucas’ cheek, which only draws up a garbled purr from the man and Cal chuckles a rough sound in response as he cups the other man’s aching and parted jaw. 

It’s  _ both _ men that grow eerily silent when Cal twists and a hand slips down the side of Lucas’ neck to trace the keys of his ribs, searching until Cal can press against the very one that would elicit the sound that he wants to hear most of all. 

An outcry, nearly bordering on a scream, is muffled around his cock and, that alone, nearly brings Cal to cum right then and there. But when Lucas recovers and presses his face hard into Cal’s groin with nose buried deep against the coarse hair there in order to suck with firm and expert precision, Cal learns that  _ pain _ is the key to getting what he wants from this man.

Lucas is a mess of glowing, red-hot pain and his own pulsing need as he swallows down the other man’s cock, working it over the best he knows. God knows he just wants to get this right and to have Cal tell him how good it feels. To turn around, only to give it to Lucas again - all of it - the pain and the salty, hot length of Cal’s cock.

This is an altar Lucas  _ can  _ worship at.

Cal’s rough hands continue to play in Lucas’ hair and tease over his various lacerations and wounds, pushing and scraping and each turn. If he focuses enough, he can feel fresh beads of blood blooming in lines across his torso and face, some even spilling into tiny, narrow rivulets. The sharp sting of air hitting his open wounds brings Lucas to gasp, drawing away in the slightest to fill his lungs, but it’s the palm that collides with the side of Lucas’ face that elicits even more a reaction. Cal slaps him hard and the wake of the strike smarts against Lucas’ flesh in the most sinfully erotic way, reminding him to get back to the task at-hand. 

And Lucas does,  _ greedily _ .

Cal thrusts forward once again, thighs leaning his weight against Lucas’ shoulders painfully, and the hard lines of Cal’s hip bones grinding over the other’s cheekbones. The softest pink hints at the smearing of blood, mixed with the sweat and saliva between their flesh. Lucas has to take air whenever he can get it as Cal’s motions grow more spasmodic and violent - but still, he doesn’t lift a hand to stop him. Not even when the soft crack of Lucas’ rib giving way once again, after attempting to set itself the previous night, echoes between them, followed by another husky cry out against Cal’s arousal. 

If anything, the splitting sound urges Cal on. And, despite the pain that takes hold of him, Lucas has never felt so connected to pain in his entire life.

Cal’s whole body seems to lose control as a tremor passes over him. The tight coil of heat in his core spirals out and blows through him with blindingly white electric trails of light. Scrambling, he reaches to draw the man’s mouth away with a hand clamped over Lucas’ throat. Cal pulls back and takes hold of his cock, tugging only once, before he blows white ribbons of cum over Lucas’ face and down the line of his chin to pain the hollow of his throat.. Gasping and panting, Cal’s eyes flutter and roll back as a flush blooms itself across the expanse of his flesh, following after what seems to be an endless orgasm. Hips stutter forward and the blissful feeling just keeps pulsing through him, muscles crying out and moans purring low in Cal’s throat. 

“G— God. F….uck.” His head rolls on his shoulders, before it drops forward as he licks his lips. Cal shakes his head as a tight grimace of a smile ghosts across his face and he manages to get his breath back. Without glancing in Lucas’ direction, Cal pulls away abruptly and draws to his feet, pulling up his underwear and doing up his trousers, before fixing his shirt.

Cal arches a brow as he buckles his bet, the metal sound of it clinking into the sudden silence of the room. He watches Lucas’ where he lies, half naked, sticky with  _ his _ cum, disheveled, and clearly needing on the floor. 

“Seems you need to unburden something, Lucas?” It’s toying when Cal says it this time.

Lucas rolls to his side and then pushes up on one large arm, every movement slow and clearly sore, while he remains wary of the other man. The large planes of Lucas’ chest rise and fall with every breath and his shoulders roll like boulders. The bones that mark the outline of his chest are thick-set and Cal wonders if he could break them with his hands, alone. This game of tug-of-war between them does not allow for them to walk away unscathed. 

Lucas doesn’t  _ want _ to walk away unscathed.

“You can move.” Cal says, almost off-hand as he towers over the other man. 

Lucas doesn’t stand right away, but rather, he moves to crawl over towards Cal, still favoring one side due to the tenderness of bright bruising— he stops, coming to rest on the floor just short of Cal’s shoes. 

Cal bends down and brushes his thumb over Lucas’ lip - an action that is just the same as that morning. However, this time flesh slides easily with the lubrication of his cum.

“You want me to touch you now, don’t you? Even though you know that I won’t.” He considers Lucas a long minute, before going on. “Unburden yourself for me. So I can see.” 

Cal moves to seat himself in the nearest chair, a slow and steady exhale sighed past pearly teeth as he takes to waiting with legs splayed apart, his elbows resting against his knees and his chin perches on his fingers.

Lucas waits to move until Cal’s foot starts to tap against the floor impatiently. 

“Proving to be quite the liar, Lucas.”

Only then, does he bring himself to slowly lie back down, before Lucas undoes his pants, lifting his hips just enough to slide them down over his narrow hips so that his cock can spring free of his underwear. He knows he is not lacking in size and so, quickly looks towards Cal to gauge his reaction.

”Cal, please,” he moans out, wiping fingers through the pre-cum that beads against the crown of his erection.

The look that Cal wears as his eyes rake over the size of Lucas’ cock is nothing short of openly fascinated. 

“Beg louder.”

Lucas curls his fist over himself, easing back the foreskin to reveal the shiny, bulbous head as begins to stroke at an even pace. He wants nothing more than to feel Cal’s hands all over him - to bring Lucas both pleasure and pain and in one touch. 

“Please.. haven’t I— ?” He’s verging on begging now.

“This isn’t tit-for-tat.” Cal snaps, interrupting the other man, before getting up from the chair he’d been seated in to walk around Lucas and watch him from different angles. 

“Touch me.” Lucas strokes hard and fast as Cal circles him like he is prey, or dinner, or something to be devoured. He squeezes his cock on an upstroke, pre-cum dripping from the slit and he promptly runs his thumb through it to smear the slickness over the sensitive head. His buttocks flex and roll as Lucas sighs out in his need.

There is both temptation and apprehension in Cal’s eyes. The only thing that translates in his tone, however, is power.

“No. I want to see you.  _ Show me _ .” His head rolls to the side and, on a whim, he plants his shoe against the middle of Lucas’ chest. The larger man instantly arches into the step of Cal’s foot and it only encourages him to step down harder, grinding the heel.

Immediately, Lucas’ head drops back with mouth open and breath panting as his fist works harder. It doesn’t take long - the heat and the intensity of everything combined drawing wet, white streams to blow over the surface of Cal’s shoe.

“Lick it off.” The order comes sharp, but there’s something there that borders on playful.  _ Amusement. _

Lucas looks up towards him, brows pinched, as if deliberating whether or not this may be a step too far. That is when Cal feels a rush, greater than any of those before. This is a pit of wills. 

“ _ I said _ , lick. It. Off!” His neck strains as he snarls out the words, his hands in fists at his sides but he couldn’t be more thrilled if he tried. Lucas wants someone to take control and to feed him pain alongside pleasure, while Cal wants to feel the static of his own power as it courses like a river under the surface of his own skin. They can find both things within one another, regardless of how strange it might be to work out the details in their heads. They can both feel it.

Lucas pulls himself to sit up and finally takes Cal’s shoe in both hands - one clasped against the back of the other man’s ankle, while the other grips the sole. Another fraction of a moment’s hesitation, before Lucas leans in and licks over the first stream of cum drawing it onto the bet of his tongue and leaving nothing but a shiny trail against the leather in its wake.

Satisfied enough to purr with it, Cal swallows down any reaction he might have, before pulling his foot away from Lucas’ grasp.

“Good...” His hands reach up to run over his head and through short, dark hair as Cal closes his eyes and basks in the feeling of the aftermath. A pause, letting it work its way through, before he kneels down beside Lucas and sweeps a gaze over his wounds, hands reaching to get a better look at some ever here and there. 

“Clean yourself up. I’ll send the doctor to come check on you.”

“Will you— ”

“I think you’ve endured enough penance for one evening. Sermon - tomorrow night at six. If I don’t see you there, I won’t come looking for you. You will be asked to leave.”

With that, Cal pushes up to standing once again and offers Lucas his hand to help him do the same. When it is clear that he is struggling on his own, Cal’s touch goes suddenly tender and helps Lucas to his bed carefully, waiting until he is lying down and assisting when needed.

A sigh is coupled with a flash of emotion that dashes itself all-too-suddenly across Cal’s features. Confusion. He shakes his head and shifts to seat himself beside Lucas on the bed, remaining quiet for what feels like an eternity, before, “ _ Why? _ I don’t… Lucas, I don’t like men.”

“I don’t either. I don’t know.” Long fingers reach out, brushing softly over Cal’s, who only waits for a second, before he lets them entwine. 

As Cal lifts his gaze towards the other man, he isn’t sure whether it’s pity, or something else that possesses him to lean in and offer Lucas a chaste kiss, but he feels himself wanting it as well. As those strong arms reach out and draw him close, holding Cal in their warm embrace - and as he notes the taste of himself on the other man’s lips - it doesn’t take long, before their kiss takes a turn for something more messy and frantic. Lucas moans and pleads into Cal’s mouth, urging him to stay and , Cal shifts around all-too-ready to straddle the other man again, when he suddenly yanks back. 

“I... Lucas.” The hesitation is back in Cal’s voice when he speaks up again.

“I like it when you hurt me. I like it when you tell me that I’m good, or worth it. All of it,” Lucas insists.

Cal groans and kisses him again, scratching a hard welt down Lucas’ side as he talks into the space between their mouths. “Would you, ah— would you break more bones, if I asked you to?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?” he pants into Lucas’ mouth.

_ Fuck _ , Cal can’t help but feel himself go hard again, a hand drifting down to cup his palm over Lucas’ cock where it strains, equally as stiff in return. The mix of emotions following the touch only draws forth more confusion from within Cal. A sharp gasp into their kiss, before he draws away - the shock of wrapping fingers another cock being way too much in the settling dust of their previous actions. Adrenaline wears off and Cal feels a lot less brave. 

He sits up, wiping his mouth and Lucas doesn’t say anything. He just lies there, bleeding and covered in cum, while panting from the pain.

“Sorry. I have to go.” Cal huffs out, before he lifts himself off of the mattress and stands, walking his way through the doorway and casting a final look glance over his shoulder in Lucas’ direction. It’s lingering, however brief and however quickly the man wants to leave, there is still an undeniable warmth there that cannot be hidden. Down the hall and over to the front door, Cal lets his hand hover over the doorknob, before he unlocks it and pauses outside to heave in a deep breath, locking the door behind. 

  
He doesn't want Lucas going  _ anywhere  _ until tomorrow.


End file.
